GoTake him to the window of the worldMake him seeMake him see the changing of the seasonsThe flowers bloom, their petals in the sunMake him feel....lifeThe breezes, cool on his naked skinMake him be coldAnd warm him by a fireLet him feel the touch of soft, warm skin against his ownLet him feel loveLet a baby grip his finger with its tiny hand

Make him feel!

I can't stand to watch him stare blankly any moreKnow he doesn't feelKnow that we are one and yet I can't get to him and let him know that emptiness need not be all he knowsThere can be warmth in his heartHe doesn't have to stay in darkness, wondering only at the painful brightness of the light

You tryPlease tryFor every time I start to liveI see him thereFeel him thereNot sad, but barrenAll aloneNot lost, no, never lostResignedTo sit in his darkness, waiting for the end

I have resigned myself to that, I thinkOn saner daysOn days, when stark reality sets inThat he is injured much too deeply to become suddenly aliveThat lack of love caused him to lose all hope of ever feeling anything again

And yet he's hereHe's part of meAnd I can laughAnd run through leavesAnd smell a roseAnd feel a lover's touchHow is that so?How can a part of me be numb, and yet, another part know lifeA sad life sometimes, to be sure, knowing that a silent child sits deep within my soulAloneYet loved by me so deeplyAs if not myself, but some sad child I knowA little boyA child that I would save at any cost

Can you help me, please?You have reached him once or twice.I know he's felt your loveI know he hasFor I have felt him startle at the feeling

Please don't give upThere's still a chance for him I thinkStill a chance for him to feelFor us to share a piece of lifeA love, perhapsA chance that I could lead him from his awful place, at lastInto the brightness of the world.

Bobby, you should publish your poems in a book about child abuse. Your poems make me understand my husband better...how sad he really is....how numb and to think he's lived this way for about 3 decades is too much. I don't know how he's done it at all.

_________________________
Brokenhearted

It were better for him that a millstone were hanged around his neck, and he cast into the sea, than that he should offend one of these little ones.Luke 17:2

Once again, you've expressed the essence of feeling held by the deeply wounded child within. You've spoken to the heart of so many of us. I can so identify with the things you say in this work. It's like you know where I've been, and you do I guess because you've spoken from your own experience.

You're a good man Bobby. You are doing a good thing whey you write these things. I agree with BrokenHearted. Your work needs to be published.

Pick out the best of them. This one being among them, and prepare them in a manu>

_________________________“Life’s journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting ‘Holy ____…! What a ride!’” ~Hunter S. Thompson

Your poems make me understand my husband better...how sad he really is....how numb and to think he's lived this way for about 3 decades is too much. I don't know how he's done it at all.

He's a hero, you know. Your husband. His little guy is a hero simply for getting him this far. It's not an easy life dealing with this stuff. He needs to be able to connect with that inner child and learn to love him again.

Anyhow, just keep loving him.

Lots of love,

John

_________________________“Life’s journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting ‘Holy ____…! What a ride!’” ~Hunter S. Thompson

_________________________
"That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. . . What will your verse be?" Robin Williams as John Keating in "Dead Poets Society"

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